We enter the room to find Angus in a state of high excitement, pacing about like a groom at the altar.
‘Well, this is allveryexciting, isn’t it?’ he says, which is an eccentric take on the situation given the number of job losses theFinancial Timeswas speculating about this morning. ‘One thing before the guest of honour arrives. Make sure he has first dibs on the cheese sandwiches. I don’t want there to be a scrum and him be only left with prawns.’
When the door opens and a man I recognise from his Wikipedia entry as Niles Fischer appears, Angus jumps to attention.
He ushers him into the boardroom and we all sit around the table in a suitable state of awe. He has thick, silver hair, which he styles upwards in a little point, and a tan that gives him the air of a retired ski champion. He’s got one of those perfectly symmetrical faces that is empirically handsome but oddly unattractive all at once. In a certain light, he might have been created by AI.
The only thing I know about him is what I’ve googled. That he is Swiss-Canadian, fifty-eight years old and, as chairman of the Barisian Group and owner of multiple high-street retailers both in the UK and abroad, has a net worththat would make your eyes water. After a short, excruciating
introduction in which Angus takes the definition of arse-licking to new heights, Niles addresses the room in a smooth, baritone voice.
‘Hi everybody. Let me start by saying howwonderfulit is to be here in Manchester.’
There’s a murmur of approval, led by Angus, who is grinning so hard his nose is almost running.
‘The purpose of today’s visit is not merely to introduce myself, but also to talk about day-to-day operations, which will remain the same for the foreseeable. Our vision for the future is, I suspect, a shared one: to increase value for customers and take a larger market share. While there may of course be changes to roles and responsibilities down the line, I’mcommittedto treating everyone fairly and with respect.’
Kayla flashes me a look from the other side of the table. I return it and lower my gaze.
It is patently clear from Niles’s speech that he’s done this before, probably many times. He says a great deal without saying anything at all. It’s a skill that I suspect will leave everyone temporarily soothed, before they start panicking about job security the moment they step out of the room. Unfortunately for me, I can already feel the panic rising, as he finishes his talk by inviting us to ask questions.
‘Just looking at the time, I think it’s probably best we move onto the sandwiches,’ Angus jumps in, clearly terrified one of us is going to show him up. I’m so convinced he’s about to thrust a platter at Niles before we find outanythingmeaningful, that I pipe up myself.
‘Actually, I do have a question,’ I say. I need some answers, even if nobody else seems prepared to put themselves out there. Everyone turns to look at me. ‘I wondered when you hope to have the review of the business completed?’
‘I’m aiming to have a clearer picture within three months. Certainly before the end of June.’
‘Brilliant!’ declares Angus, like Niles has just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. ‘Now, how about that lunch?’
Chapter 19
As I dash through the club gates at the weekend, I spot a poster announcing that next week’s Rusty Racquets session has been cancelled to make way for a fundraising tournament. I feel a crunch of disappointment.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jeff says. ‘I’ve got you a ticket to play at the event instead.’
‘Why did you do that?’ I say quickly.
He purses his lips. ‘Oh comeon. It’s a “funtournament”. Emphasis on the fun.’
‘He’s right,’ Lisa adds. ‘Denise Dandy is organising, so “fun” is compulsory. Anyone not having an acceptable level of fun will be asked to leave immediately.’
‘Besides, your name’s down now,’ Jeff adds. ‘So you’ll mess up Denise’s planning if you don’t go. She’s a professional microblader. I wouldn’t like to say what she’s capable of.’
I continue to hedge my bets until Sunday morning, when I occupy myself by stalking Frankie in Rome on Find My iPhone, catastrophising about what the Barisian Group’s takeover might mean for us all and checking the balance of the savings account I set up for Frankie’s university fees to see if any money I’d forgotten about had miraculously appeared in there. In a bid to still my thoughts, I resort to a new oven-cleaning hack I’ve found on Instagram, which involves a convoluted scouring technique using lemons, baking soda and a squirt of white wine vinegar. It takes half themorning and has a peculiar effect on my eyes, which are still watering an hour after I’ve finished.
I remind myself that I existed perfectly well before I rediscovered tennis. And that – as stubborn as this particular perimenopause symptom is – there are multiple answers to my anxiety that don’t involve hitting a ball over a net.
I go upstairs and lie on my bed, opening the copy ofCrime and PunishmentI decided to pick up recently, thirty years after I started it at the age of seventeen. I manage five pages. At least, my eyes definitely make contact with each of the words. I must admit, if I were subject to a spot check of how many are actually going in, I’m not sure I’d pass. It’s hardly my fault though, given the sounds drifting in from outside. Thethwacksand thepopsand theclinks. A cacophony of undeniably enticing noises – of tennis balls and glasses of fizz.
A burst of light illuminates the room and I stand up and go to the window. I push aside the blinds I’ve recently had installed and see sunlight sparkling on the courts. The clubhouse is decorated with bunting. On the terrace, there’s a long table filled with home-made cakes and an array of drinks. Grown-ups are milling around laughing, while kids play tag. I spot Jeff as he chats to Rose, Lisa and a strikingly handsome man whom I can only presume is the American boyfriend Zach I’ve been hearing about.
The tournament hasn’t yet started, but there is already a carnival atmosphere. I sigh and fling the book down on my bed, before heading to the wardrobe for a pair of leggings.
I enter the club gates and find Nora at a desk marked ‘player registration’. She looks happy to see me, but not as much as Denise Dandy, who appears out of nowhere with her clipboard.
‘You made it!’ she exclaims jubilantly. Just as I’m thinking Jeff has this woman all wrong, she adds, ‘You’d have made atotal mess of my order of play if you hadn’t turned up.’ She ticks off my name.
‘Great to see you, Jules,’ Nora interjects.
